Camino Frances - 1

Surprise!

 On April 23 Elizabeth (also known as e3) and I are heading out to walk the Camino Frances pilgrimage.

It is an old pilgrimage route to the shrine of Saint James the Greater.  We plan to start at St. Jean Pied de Port.  The end point is Santiago de Compostela.  

Why?

1.  I am recently retired and need a reset - physical, moral, spiritual, practical.

2.  I want to seek what God has next for me, for Donna, for our family,  and there are to many distractions for me to just schlep along as usual.  

3.  James is the name I took at confirmation.  I have an affinity for James the Greater.  The book of James always has struck me as the wisdom book of the new testament.  I certainly could use some wisdom.  

Therefore, a pilgrimage it is.

***

Many people have contributed to the adventure for which I am very grateful.  My gear is just about set.  Elizabeth is still rounding up a few things.  

My preparations at this point are mostly on improving my physical and willpower resilience.

Hello Again

 It has been too long since I have posted, perhaps.

This year is an odd year--I had the joy of going on a walking pilgrimage, the first pilgrimage I have been on.

The Pilgrimage for Restoration is an annual event that I learned of September of the previous year when visiting St. Peter and Paul Basilica down in Chattanooga.  I went to the website, read stuff, and ultimately decided to go.  A sister of mine came too, which made the going easier.  

I practiced setting up the tent, did not pray enough, neglected my Night Before setting off arrangements until  *too late*, and did not walk enough in preparation.  We did pack well, though, and had more than enough food.  When we arrived at Auriesville we got to meet the Brigadier for the Company of St. Joan of Arc, which was the company we would be marching/walking with.  We also met some of the Company of St Stephen of Hungary.  Delightful people all, and you know you are likely in good company when someone invites the group to pray the Rosary as we go along.

It was a good start to an amazing weekend of pilgrimage.  Quickly when we reached the camp at the Lake George Battlegrounds, we were meeting more of the Company of St. Joan and we were found a place to set up tent.  So many people have gone year after year, and so many people were new to the pilgrimage.  

Our tent was set up shortly before sunset, right behind a great statue of St. Isaac Jogues.  Now he was a worthy Jesuit.  Mass would be said in the morning on the other side of that statue.

After setting up the tent, with a little mishap along the way that was rectified by an unusual use of a seam-ripper, Elizabeth and I walked (and ran) down to the Lake of the Blessed Sacrament.  This was where St. Isaac Jogues landed.  It was kind of awe inspiring to think that here we were and within a few days, we would be were he and other Christian martyrs met their earthly ends.

In the morning, we got up before the dawn, dressed for the day and packed up the tent.  It was still dark when we formed up with our battalion to go to Mass.  We had been asked if we wanted to bear the standard.  A new old one had just been gotten, it had been retired by a parish in France, if I remember the story correctly.  On it was a representation of St. Joan of Arc bearing the banner.  Now, the problem with a novice bearing the standard is that we did not know where we were going.  We were pointed in a direction, moved confidently, and had to be redirected.  We made it to mass in any case, and still the sun was not yet risen.  

It was quiet.  A canopy was over the area of the Altar at the feet of the gigantic statue of St. Isaac Jogues.  A bishop was seated off to the side as mass was being offered.  We all faced God together.  As mass was being prayed, almost insensibly the morning dawned.  It was grey and then golden.  St. Isaac was more discernible, and with his mutilated hand raised in blessing, he was also a powerful reminder of the Faith.  The homily given also pointed to the example set for us by those martyrs of old.  We would be roughly following their path.  I hope, that when I die, however it may be, I die in the Faith, in the Love of God and get to be welcomed like them into heaven.

Part of a family...

Here is the short story.  (As in, when I started writing back last August, I began to write what would have to end up as a book, before I got to the point.)
We got to go to the Cannon-Butler Family Reunion last August because from my mother's side of the family we are related.
Now this was exciting for me, because I had not met these cousins of ours.  I had met Tony and Sheila (Sheila is the blood related one), but not The Sisters, my mother's first cousins, nor any of the others of this side of the family I had only found out about after my family moved to Tennessee.  I hadn't known my grandfather on my mother's side, and I had not known his side of the family.  It turns out, they are black.  So, I, pale and blue eyed, have a great grandfather who was known as "an upstanding negro of the community."
I have always, at least as far as I remember, been interested in knowing about my family history, and when we were first in contact with these knew-found relations, Cousin Kennetta sent us information about the family history.  I was especially eager to meet her, because I am grateful for her picture albums and genealogy papers.
So we went to Massanutten to the family reunion.  As we were getting to the building on the resort where we were to stay, I noticed a black family coming out of a building nearby.  It occurred to me, "What if they were part of the family?"  As I smiled, it struck me, "Isn't that the way to look at people?"  That person, you know, the one on the street corner with missing teeth, might be related to you--IS related to you.  So is that one, you know, the stranger in front of you, taking too long to unload her shopping cart.  That one over there, you know the one that sits over there in the congregation always looking perfectly done up--that one too.
Anyway....a bit more closely related than that one, are the cousins we met.  Oh my word, it was so exciting!  I spent most of the time with "the Sisters" which was delightful.  Cousin Kennetta told us stories and showed the albums and picture board.  Cousin Donald, who organized the event, was agreeable to take Joshua around where they went.  Some went to the water park, we ate meals together, played games--it was so wonderful. 
It warmed me so much, one time when we were sitting around eating (I actually think Peggy was doing something by the sink, cleaning or preparing food) but Naomi was mentioned, she being absent, and Cousin Janie just exclaimed, "I love that girl!"  It still makes me smile, almost a year later, recalling that.
Towards the end, I enjoyed taking a walk with Buttons (one of the Sisters) and Tomika and Elizabeth.  We talked a bit, the weather was lovely, and we found a shortcut back that was probably not supposed to be used.  It was chained off at the closer end.
Adventure.  Family.  You cannot ask for a better way to spend a week of summer.

Fort Monroe

If you get a chance, visit Fort Monroe in Hampton, Virginia.  Truly an extraordinary historical site. 
The base closed down in 2011, so the dirt is open to the public.  There us a museum in the casemates, the fortified wall surrounding.